


run to my window

by dansunedisco



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dogs, F/M, Female Friendship, Fluff, Happy Ending, Meet-Cute, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Modern Era, tropes tropes tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 01:30:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7737997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dansunedisco/pseuds/dansunedisco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The man was stretching, arms lifted high above his head to reveal a sliver of pale stomach between the hem of his shirt and band of his shorts. Sansa swallowed.</i>
</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Written for 'i see you jogging around my block every morning so i guess it’s my fault i accidentally left my curtains open when changing while you passed by” AU except there's dogs, embarrassment, a ton of fluff, and no accidental voyeurism.</p>
            </blockquote>





	run to my window

Sansa would blame it on Lady, if she were capable of blaming Lady for anything; instead, she rested the whole, embarrassing mess on her shoulders (with a sizable assist by Margaery).

It happened this like:

She was straightening her hair before work when Lady perked up from her dog bed and scampered to the window; she hopped up, her front paws scratching at the sill, and did several very un-Lady-like things at once: she gave a breathy woof, smooshed her nose against the glass pane, and began to wiggle all over in excited delight.

Sansa’s jaw dropped, surprised. She had _never_ seen Lady act that way--she was an even-keeled, good tempered dog since puppyhood who’d never even bothered sniffing at a wayward squirrel or cat. Needless to say, her curiosity was more than piqued. 

Her hair was half-wild and crazy when she flicked the drapes aside and saw what had caught Lady’s attention. Or, rather, _who_. It was a man-- a very _attractive_ man--and his massive dog.

Lady barked.

“You got that right,” Sansa replied.

The duo were across the street in direct sight of her room. The man was stretching, arms lifted high above his head to reveal a sliver of pale stomach between the hem of his shirt and band of his shorts. Sansa swallowed. His dark hair was pulled into a bun (which she normally didn't like, but would enthusiastically make an exception for _this_ particular one), a handsome face (scruffy, but again: exception), and a fit body (she was woman enough to allow a bit of shallow ogling). The dog was white, and she was sure it was an Akita, just like Lady. “No wonder you were so interested,” Sansa said.

Man-Bun might be new to the neighborhood, she thought. The apartment row she lived in was one of the few in the city that allowed large breeds, and she was sure she would have noticed another Akita galloping through in the past year of her own residence. But what if he didn't live here? Would it be too bold to duck her head out of the window and introduce herself before he ran off? It could be a classic meet-cute moment, right? Or the most embarrassing thing she had ever done, and to a potential new neighbor no less. He could already have a girlfriend--or a boyfriend-- and she'd forever be known as the creepy window girl among the tenants.

Luckily, she didn't have to despair about it for long; the man stopped his stretch and reached down to scrub adoringly at his dog’s ears. Afterwards, they started their jog down the sidewalk. Sansa laughed, taking the missed moment for what it surely was: the world’s way of looking out for her dignity. Either way, it wouldn't do to gape all morning long like some reverse peeping Tom. She let the drape drop with a wistful sigh and determined to tell Marg all about Man-Bun and her fleeting brush with athletic hotness at evening drinks. She went back to fixing her hair, and dutifully ignored Lady’s depressed woofs.

Work was unusually uneventful, and so Sansa’s thoughts often strayed to Man-Bun. It was too soon, and too fleeting, to have already developed a crush, but she couldn't say that she didn’t want an opportunity to see him again. He was ridiculously good-looking, and she knew it took a certain amount of patience and gentleness to train the larger breeds. Plus, Lady had impeccable taste (exhibit A: when she nearly bit Joffrey’s hand off the first and last time he raised a hand to her).

“You should've popped your head right out the window,” Marg said later, after Sansa had filled in her with all the pertinent details.

Sansa groaned and dropped her head into her hands. “That was my first thought, too,” she said, “I'm officially morphing into you.”

“I view that as the opposite of a problem.”

“Yes, you're fabulous-- and _shameless_. You’d know exactly what to say. I would've gone for it, realized I was actually catcalling him, and then Lady would've been obligated to nudge me out the window for my shame.”

“Lady is an honorable one,” Marg said, mock serious. She hummed thoughtfully. “Well… You could take up running in the morning? That would be natural.” 

“But _every_ morning? Until we chat?”

“Or you could sit by your window, brushing your beautiful auburn hair like a princess in a tower, waiting for him day and night. _Staring.”_ Marg laid a hand on Sansa’s forearm and gave it a gentle squeeze. Her teasing smirk turned serious. “Or you don't have to do anything at all. You're not obligated to chat up every handsome man you see.”

She smiled, not for the first time thankful for Marg’s friendship--no matter how unexpected it had been at first. They had both dated Joffrey Baratheon--at the same time, unbeknownst to the presence of the other--and Sansa had always said the only good thing to come out of that dumpster fire of a relationship was Margaery Tyrell. “Thanks, Marg,” she said, “you're the best.”

The night went on, Marg described her grandmother’s verbal takedown of the week, and Sansa subsequently forgot all about the jogger. That was, until the next morning, when Lady again darted from her bed to the window. Sansa followed quickly behind. 

Man-Bun was back. Same spot, same dog, same stretches. Definitely a neighbor then, she thought. Sansa bit her lip, thinking of Marg’s advice. What was the worst that could happen? She was friendly enough-- and if he wasn’t interested, or they were compatible, she might make a friend. _To hell with it_ , she thought. Risks were made to be taken, and she was tired of playing it safe. She unlatched the window and leaned out before she could continue second-guessing herself.

“I like your dog!” was the first thing that came to mind, and so, giddy with nerves, that was what she called out.

Man-Bun’s head immediately snapped up, his gaze darting around until it landed on Sansa. He tugged an earbud out, and called back, “What?”

_Seriously though?_ “Oh gods, what am I doing?” she whispered to herself, horrified. Of _course_ Man-Bun was listening to music. Of course he wouldn't be able to hear her! She'd just yelled at some man on the street and he hadn't even heard her. Her life was _not_ a meet-cute; no, she was firmly in awkward teenaged angst. She flushed red, seized up with sudden shyness, and did the only thing she could think of, and that was flee. She ducked back inside and snapped the drapes closed, palms sweating and heart thumping. _Dammit._ What had she been thinking?

 

-

 

“What's gotten into you?” 

Jon toed out of his running shoes with a frown. “What d’you mean?”

Sam raised his eyebrows and gestured with his slice of buttered toast. “You’re brooding,” he said. “You don't normally brood before eight o’clock.”

“Oh shove off…” He unclipped Ghost from his leash, who trotted happily to his water bowl without a backwards glance.

“ _Jon_ …” 

He sighed, trying to sort through the tumult of confusion he'd been feeling since his run. His neighbor from across the way-- another beautiful red-head; what was his life, even?-- had yelled at him this morning because of Ghost. She'd literally opened her window to tell him she hated his dog… At least, that was what he thought he'd heard through his music, and surmised by her reaction when he’d replied. This was supposed to be a dog-friendly neighborhood. In fact, it was the one and only reason he had been willing to pay the ridiculous rent-- at least he had Sam to split it with, as no one else would lease to him with Ghost in tow. It was only his luck he'd get admonished over his big, _scary_ dog a week into living here.

“I had a weird moment this morning,” he said, and tried his best to explain what had happened as Sam looked on sympathetically.

“I'm sorry,” Sam said afterwards, “but are you _sure_ she actually said ‘leash your dog’?”

“I dunno for sure, but what else could it have been?” He shrugged. It wouldn’t have been the worst insult he'd heard while walking Ghost. “It’s not a big deal… I just don't want her to complain to the landlord and get us in trouble.”

“I'm sure it'll work out. It always does.”

The rest of Jon’s day went by quickly, and he only thought of the redhead a handful of times. Still, he _did_ think of her. As much as her unfounded dislike of Ghost rubbed him the wrong way (his dog was the best, and he was only a _little_ biased), he would have to be blind to not see that she was incredibly beautiful. Lovely hair, face, skin; even her voice, from what little he'd heard of it, was _nice_. It was really too bad, he thought. He didn't expect every single person to attach to Ghost. That would have been an unrealistic expectation. But a small bit of _like_ … a great amount of _tolerance._

He sighed, and realized he’d just spent the better part of the hour intermittently looking out his window and across the way.

Too bad indeed. He would have asked her out in a heartbeat.

 

-

 

The next morning, Sansa found herself pacing by her window. She hadn’t meant to start, but she’d spent a good part of yesterday worrying, and had woken up anxious; the movement helped.

It would be impossible to escape Man-Bun and his dog entirely, she knew. She couldn’t deprive Lady of a potential doggy paramour (or continue to live in embarrassment, because it really, really sucked). So she waited, and paced, and when the solution finally came to her, she nearly laughed.

“Come on, Lady,” Sansa said, “we’re going for a walk.”

 

-

 

Jon waffled for a good twenty minutes on whether or not he should change his routine, right before settling on: _fuck it_. The only free time he had for a good, solid run was in the mornings (something both he and Ghost desperately needed, living cramped in the city as they were), and if someone wanted to complain about Ghost--well, he’d let them talk, but he wouldn’t let them alter his life. Pretty girl or not. “Come on, Ghost,” he said, indignant on his behalf.

He started his run as he always did, and went through a quick series of stretches as Ghost sniffed around the stoop. Then, he saw it: a gray Akita trotting down the sidewalk, followed by its owner. Which, to his great surprise, was the redhead from yesterday.

“Hi,” she said shyly.

He blinked. “Hi.”

“Hi. Um… I just wanted to apologize--”

“You have a dog,” he blurted out. “Sorry, just… you have a dog.” 

She smiled. “I do. That was, kind of, why I yelled at you yesterday? Lady was very interested in, um--”

“Ghost.”

“Yes, so. Lady was very interested in Ghost, and I… didn’t want the opportunity to slip them by, you see.”

Jon was starting to get that buzzing feeling he sometimes got when he read a situation very wrong. She was _flirting_ with him. She had a _dog_. Sam was never going to let him live this one down. “I’m Jon.” 

Her smile grew. “Sansa.”

 

-

 

(Sam can’t stop laughing when Jon tells him what happened, but he doesn’t care-- he has a new number saved in his phone _and_ a coffee date.)


End file.
